Incentive Pants

I happened to find myself at Target on Friday. I like phrasing it that way because it makes it sound like I rolled on the wind like a tumbling tumbleweed for weeks and just happened to end up at Target. It seems more interesting than saying "My wife and I went to Target to buy pants." Because I could just as easily ended up like a tumbling tumbleweed at Cabela's, or Andy's Hobby Headquarters, or somewhere in Belgium.

Yes, pants. I don't really need pants that badly. What I need more than anything is a nice suit - I lean toward charcoal grey - but I figured at long as low-end Wrangler jeans could be had for less than twenty bucks per, I might as well try something. I've been losing weight since July (total score is about seventy pounds) and I decided to buy pants that I knew I wouldn't quite fit into. Size 42s if you must know. The idea was that not quite being able to wear them would motivate me and renew my dietary and exercisory vim. Incentive pants, in other words.

Trouble is, I didn't read the label. It turns out they're "instant gratification pants". I can not only wear them already, but wear them well, and I could probably wear 40s with some discomfort and a certain Mickey Mouse tone in my voice - "Hi, kids! Wow, are my testicles ever experiencing a positively insalubrious level of torque right now! Whee!"

I appreciate the instant gratification pants, but now I have no incentive pants.

I guess 38s are the incentive pants now. I guess I (wait for it) need to put a pair of 38s in my closet - and you can interpret that however you like.